Page critique 2/1/24

[Nathan Bransford]

Below is the page up for critique on the blog on Thursday. Feel free to chime in with comments, create your own redline (please note the "font colour" button above the posting box, which looks like a drop of ink), and otherwise offer feedback. When offering your feedback, please please remember to be polite and constructive. In order to leave a comment you will need to register an account in the Forums, which should be self-explanatory.

I'll be back later with my own post on the blog and we'll literally be able to compare notes.

If you'd like to enter a page for a future Page Critique, please do so here.

Seasonal produce, my ass. I bit through luscious orange flesh, sweetly acidic juice dripping from my chin. An indecent moan escaped. These fuzzy beauties should have the financially untroubled brunch crowd licking contraband nectar from their Versace plates. How this farmstand sold ripe peaches a month before anyone else suggested juicy agri-intrigue. “You know, bribing crop wardens to ignore sun-gathering spells is frowned upon.”

“Bite me, chef.” The burly grocer shoved a basket into my arms, the protective straw full of pink and orange bottoms. “You and your horrible boss love to show off my treasures.”

“Damn straight.” I tucked an extra twenty into his hand along with a twine-tied bundle. “I brought you a treat.” He smelled the paper-wrapped loaf, a rare smile cracking his face. “Almond, poppy, and apricot from the samples you gave me.” After seven batches, I’d finally nailed the right balance of sticky, crispy edges, chewy fruit bits, and soft almond crumb.

“All set for the big day?” the grocer asked, setting the loaf aside and gently tucking pints of fragrant strawberries and honeycomb into the linen sack hanging from my shoulder.

I nodded. “This will be the brunch of brunches, my friend, revealing my egg-mastery to Manhattan’s elite.”

“Fame and glory, eh?”

The basket dug into my bandaged wrist, shooting pain up my arm. I shifted again, propping it on one leg. “Nah, a restaurant deal and cookbook contract will suffice.”

“And your boss’ll just let you go, huh?”